Managing Mayhem
by Airiblu
Summary: AU; Working as the manager of obnoxiously famous musician Takumi Usui, Misaki Ayuzawa is stuck between a rock and a hard place. You might as well call them a ticking time bomb.
1. Chapter 1

**Fanfiction for the "Maid Sama!" golden pairing, Usui and Misaki. God, I love these two. This started off as random drabbles but somehow formed a plot. Forgive me for any OOCness, it's my first time. In this story Misaki is older than Usui.**

**AU; Working as the manager of obnoxiously famous musician Takumi Usui, Misaki Ayuzawa is stuck between a rock and a hard place. You might as well call them a ticking time bomb. **

On any given day most people with a couple working brain cells would not go trifling with demon manager Ayuzawa. Today was of no exception. Storming through the formerly intact doors of Seika Talent Studios, Ayuzawa Misaki could only be described as the face of Satan attached to the body of twenty-year-old woman. The simple reason being, of course, was one particular good-looking, blonde-headed boy of a certain degree of fame; Usui Takumi.

Anybody who has been around or in the presence of Misaki and Usui beyond five seconds would form two distinct impressions; the first being poor Usui was in the clutches of a demon sent from the pits of hell, the second being the two were most definitely not native to planet Earth.

"What's wrong, manager?" drawled a voice lazily.

Misaki whipped toward the direction of the voice. A couple of staff members instinctively turned and scuttled. At least good ten feet.

"YOU!" she bellowed, pointing a finger accusingly.

"Me," confirmed Usui mildly.

"Do you have ANY IDEA what you put me through last night?" Misaki continued, only a few decibels short of causing ear damage.

"Pray tell, what _did _I put you through?" Usui answered airily.

Misaki uncharacteristically does not answer, though if possible, grows more livid in the face. She splutters, turns a bright shade of red, and grabs his collar in a death grip.

"You. Are. Coming. With. Me," Misaki breathed in a low voice full of unspoken threats of violent ends. Usui looked, if anything, slightly less than mildly interested.

_-Outside-_

"Let me make this _perfectly clear, _you IDIOT. You may be a big-shot idol with all the female population of Japan drooling over your face, but it doesn't change the fact that you're still a bratty teenager that _I _am cursed to dealing with. SO—" she paused for (a very deep) breath, "I SUGGEST NEXT TIME YOU EVEN HAVE THE PASSING THOUGHT OF RUNNING OFF TO A BAR TO GET YOURSELF DEAD DRUNK, GET IT IN THAT USELESS BRAIN OF YOURS THAT I HAVE A VERY LARGE KNIFE IN MY KITCHEN, AND I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO PROPERLY USE IT. IN OTHER WORDS, IT WILL MOST LIKELY END UP IN YOUR _HEAD_!" With that being said, Misaki took a chaste sip of water. Usui's face schooled itself into a halfway bemused expression.

"Wow, I learn so much from you every day, manager. Today I learned you have astonishing lung capacity," he commented dryly, having disregarded everything said in that uniquely worded, overly melodramatic rant above.

Misaki, having expended all her energy, only gave him a withering look. Usui beamed.

_-Flashback-_

"Usui-san! Would you mind answering some questions?"

"USUI-KUN! OVER HERE! MAY I TAKE YOUR PICTURE?"

"Usui-san! Is it true you're dating _the _Sakura?"

The media stormed the blonde idol in a flurry of cameras and microphones with eager anticipation as he poked a foot through the sliding glass doors, apprehensively pulling a baseball cap futilely over his golden hair. As usual, he gave no answer. And as usual, all clamor immediately came to a screeching halt at the appearance of his fire-breathing manager—who today came equipped with a rather lethal-looking frying pan. (Well, to say the very least, she made it look lethal.) Glaring venomously at the press, she hissed two words. Said words being "Fuck. Off."

The seven letters in those two simple words were miraculously effective, as all of a sudden reporters were scurrying off hastily as they suddenly remembered they had something to do elsewhere.

Usui turned, removed his shades, and shot her a grateful smile before his expression settled back into its regular stony look.

"Thanks."

"No prob. That's my job, remember?" Misaki replied in a shockingly normal tone. Needless to say this was about as close as the two ever got to conversing in a civil manner. Of course, right on cue a way to ruin the moment arrived in the form of a poorly concealed snort of laughter. The badly disguised laugh was not missed by Misaki, who picked up on it immediately and glowered.

"What?" she demanded irritably. Usui promptly dissolved into guffaws.

"Did—you—see—that—guy—he looked as if—he—was about—to pee!" Usui gleefully managed between bouts of laughter before giggles engulfed him again.

His manager clearly did not share his amusement.

"Get in the car," she snapped, not bothering to lower her lethal frying pan that was seconds away from smacking her charge's purposefully ruffled blond head. Then her phone rang. You'd have to feel sorry for the poor soul who chose that very moment to call.

"WHAT?" she spat by way of greeting. Upon hearing the other end, Misaki's facial expression immediately smoothed over and the next sentence she uttered was deceptively calm. "Yes, president. I will," she promised into her phone, turning her back towards Usui. As it turned out, that was big mistake number one. Number two was failing to notice her car being driven off by him. Until it was too late. Far too late.

_-End flashback-_

"…so I spent the rest of that evening explaining away your absence to that girl who won the lyrics contest, then scouring through your apartment for that new song! And where were you? Off in a bar ordering up some cocktails, hitting on girls, and generally not taking responsibility?" Misaki ranted, spitting the last question as a pointed accusation. Usui waited until her breathing returned to normal and her pallor regained its normal color before speaking, lest she had a heart attack.

"…No."

"What was that?" Usui smirked.

"I said I wasn't at a bar carrying out said actions," he explained calmly, an infuriating smirk still plastered on his face, "Though I would have loved to," he tacked on as an afterthought.

"Then what the hell were you doing?"

An eerie grin split his face, and his next words would haunt Misaki forever: "I was at your old job."

**So…what do you think? I hope the plot isn't overused (I sort of stole stuff from Skip Beat!), but I had fun writing this chapter. I scarcely finish anything. (Lo and behold, I actually had ideas this time!) Onwards with the actual plot! I'm not even sure this chapter made sense to you!**

**Okay, review. Please? Reviews will (hopefully) generate another chapter! *Evil laugh.* **

**Constructive criticism is welcomed. (Though my feelings would be hurt. Kidding!) Nice reviews would be great. Seriously wonderful. **

**Flames, I don't particularly care. I don't understand flamers, anyhow, do they obtain some sort of satisfaction in leaving messages that defy logic? If anyone can explain that to me, I'd be happy to listen.**

**Till next time. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, hello. For anyone who's actually reading this, I offer you my sincerest thanks. Really. I'm seriously flattered that people are reading this. *Squee!* **

Misaki remembered all of it, in vivid technicolor no less. What, you might ask? _Her old high school job. _She blanched.

How she came to be the manager of Seika's most notorious yet most desirable idol was no secret, it had already become a legend of sorts. (A long story that she found, much to her dismay, was often told (and retold) during dreary office days.) But what came before that was shrouded in secrecy, as Misaki had planned it to be kept under lock and key in the stainless steel drawers of the Information Department for the rest of her career.

Should Usui ever find out she would surely die from mortification, horror, or a nasty combination of the two. Naturally, she never anticipated he would, and therefore had not even bothered with a plan or even a plausible fib when faced with such disaster. She glanced up to see Usui watching her with an almost cheerful anticipation—a look he often wore when she was about to inform him what toppings they ordered on the pizza, or perhaps when they were alone at his ridiculously oversized apartment and his weekly anime was on but currently stuck on commercial break. In terms of convincingness, it came at a close second; struck down only by the kicked-puppy look.

In a desperate attempt to stall for time, she cleared her throat. Then, she cleared it again, just because she felt the first wasn't enough.

Finally, she spoke. What came out sounded a good deal like a strangled cat. Or rather, one with a hairball. "What?" she choked out in a last-ditch effort at playing dumb. Usui's cheerful look vanished, replaced by a look of conniving. The very one which Misaki vehemently despised; it being the source of entirely too many quarrels to remember, let alone count. Because when Usui got that look, it usually meant someone else (or any living being, for the matter) was going to suffer.

"C'mon manager, you can do better than that," he prompted, a sly smile creeping across his face that spoke volumes. Namely: _I know many, many things. Your secret, for example. So why don't you quit stalling, and we can get to the torturing already. Oh, this is going to be so much fun. _

"Well, what I mean is, I'm not sure what you're talking about," she answered after careful consideration. _Of course she knew what he was talking about._

Usui gave a childish pout. "Fine, manager, have it your way. I just wanted to tell you that you looked pretty cute in that maid outfit_." Wasn't there a rule somewhere that called for more evasive tactics before an actual confrontation? _

Rather tragically, there was no such rule, and Misaki stared blankly at him as if she hadn't at all prepared for this moment. Then her face began its transformation into a deep crimson.

"Shut up," she hissed, her face still flushed. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

He arched an eyebrow. "Oh really? Tell me then, was I just hallucinating those couple hours I spent listening to your former manager, Satsuki-san, ramble on how great you were, or that cross-dressing boy complain about your utter lack of feminine charm? To which stated point I completely agree, by the way."

Misaki thoroughly regretted not having stalled more, or attended theatre class. Perhaps then, she could bluff her way out. But that simply wasn't the case. He was on a roll—the fast track, impact quickly becoming imminent. And she was going to get hit if she didn't work fast.

It was time to come clean, as in completely, sparkling, not-a-speck-of-dust to be seen type of clean. She let loose a sigh of defeat. Usui waited. She kicked at some pebbles. Usui waited. Finally, Misaki reluctantly opened her mouth, hopefully to say something, not sigh or…sigh, like she had been repeatedly doing the past few minutes. Usui waited.

"How the heck did you even get my former employment information?"

Usui blinked. The question, it seemed, was meant for him.

"You just have to know the right people and bribe them with the right sandwiches," he said noncommittally.

"Dammit, just tell me!" Misaki yelled in frustration, momentarily forgetting what sort of information he possessed.

Usui sighed, "You're really no fun, manager."

"Usui…"

Sighing again, he eyed her with a mischief, to a certain extent. "Some attendant dropped your file folder, along with a couple others."

"Continue…"

"So I picked them up."

Misaki glared at him. He raised his hands in a classic surrendering gesture, smirking.

"Hey, manager, if it weren't for the fact that your name was printed in _bold sharpie marker, _I never would have looked."

"But you did."

"Yes," he admitted, though his tone reeked of smugness. Misaki proceeded to deepen her glare.

"Did you give them back? Did you look through the others?" she demanded sharply, reverting back to scolding manager.

Usui shrugged. "I had no interest in the others. I gave them back to the attendant as soon as I was satisfied with knowing every little thing about you," he answered, successfully steering their conversation to where it began. Which, in effect, dashed any hopes Misaki had of making him forget it all. "Including your measurements," he added with some finality. Misaki, he observed, was turning several different shades of red for around the fifth time that day. (Not that he was counting.)

Misaki raised a fist, though a bit feebly, and looked as if she were ready to beat him. But she thought better of it. (Not that she didn't want to.) She was permanently put out of the notion when it came to her attention Usui was closing the distance between them.

She had been, and still was, discreetly attempting to inch away; praying for some miracle she could make a run for it. _Wait—what! He's getting clos—_

Before Misaki could finish her string of thought, Usui had successfully infiltrated her personal space. Along with her mouth.

**Okay, so is it just me or was that horribly anticlimactic? I am really sorry. Having recently flunked a math quiz doesn't help. Anyways, I thank anybody who bothered sticking through to the end of the chapter—the next one will (hopefully) be better. (REALLY!) **

**As for the plot, I kind of feel I put the whole 'music biz' thing in the backseat—rest assured, I will be using it. **

**Now. Review. It doesn't take more than a few seconds to tap a few words on the keyboard, really. Review. Review. Review. **_**Review. **_**(I'm so demanding! I'm sorry! No, I don't have cookies to bribe you with—maybe a pop-tart. Or gum. 'Cause everybody loves gum, right?) **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hiatus notice: I'll be putting both my multi-chapter stories on hiatus temporarily. I may post a few one or two shots, if I find the time.**

**What can you learn from this? SCHOOL SUCKS.**


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